Little Things
by ntmnky
Summary: Interrelated vignettes surrounding femShepard.
1. Little Things

AN: Vignettes of Mass Effect.

Characters are property of Bioware. I'm just making them dance to my whims.

I am currently seeking a beta reader for the rest of the Mass Effect vignettes I am writing. Let me know if you are interested.

* * *

The little things.

It seems as though it's always the little things that make the biggest changes.

Take, for example, a hole. A mere 2mm across, it seems to be such a little thing. Along the seam between two pieces of drywall, it would hardly be noticed. Masked by paint, unworthy of attention. A tiny, 2mm hole took my life.

As oxygen vented from the high pressure side of my rebreather, through such a little thing, moments of my life surged from memory. Graduation, first from basic, then as an N7 operative. Becoming a Spectre. The look of shock on Udina's face when I suggested Anderson would make a worthy counselor for humanity. My sixteenth birthday, when Pa grudgingly informed me that I could borrow the family truck that coming Friday. That magical, wonderful evening with Liara before Ilos.

Liara. I wasn't ready to die and leave her.

I struggled harder than before to reach the damaged rebreather. If I could reach it, a little application of omni-gel would seal the leak. Which I hoped would give me time to get to one of the empty escape pods that had been jettisoned from _Normandy_. Unfortunately, the leak was in one of the few spots that I was dependent on a squad-mate for a field repair. Try as I might, I just couldn't reach the leak.

I was going to die.

As that fact came to me, images of all the times I should have died came rushing to the fore. Mindoir, a short three months after I turned 16, running through the woods with Batarian slavers shooting at my retreating form. Diving for cover as a huge piece of the being called Sovereign fell towards me. So many times during the days that Elysium was under siege. Ilos.

I forced myself to relax and took a deep breath of the thin atmosphere left in my hard-suit. My last breath. With my chin, I keyed the hard-suit's log and recorded my last words.

"I love you, Liara," I said and closed my eyes.

Such a little thing.


	2. Slapped

AN: Read with caution. Some descriptions may upset some readers in this chapter (call me paranoid).

This takes place after Liara escapes with Shepard's body from the Shadow Broker's base, and before she turns it over to Cerberus.

As always, the characters belong to Bioware.

* * *

Tears flowed down Liara's cheeks, her eyes bloodshot from crying. In front of her lay the stasis-tube which contained the body of her lover. Through the blue-tinted glass of the observation port she could see the remains, but she could not see Shepard in them.

The last time Liara had seen Shepard alive, her lover was looking after the safety of others. She had been commanded to see the crew of _Normandy_ to safety, while Shepard had gone to the cockpit to make sure Joker, their friend and pilot, made it out as well. Shepard had been full of life and vibrancy and passion. Shepard was not this charred and then frozen piece of meat in a tube before Liara.

"Shepard," Liara whispered, pressing her fingers against the tube that had cost her so much. She wanted to hold Shepard again. She wanted to say goodbye. Her left hand reached down to the release on the stasis tube, knowing that she shouldn't open it if she truly wanted Cerberus to try bringing Shepard back. Liara squeezed her eyes tightly shut around fresh tears. 'No science,' Liara thought as her left hand pulled on the stasis-tube's release handle, 'can bring Shepard back from this.'

With a hiss, the seal broke on the technological coffin that held the Savior of the Citadel's corpse. Hydraulic pistons eased the lid up and mist rolled out of the chamber. Liara looked down on Shepard and shook her head softly. Her right hand caressed the charred flesh along Shepard's jaw, fingers coming into contact with bone where flesh had burned through. Sometime during Shepard's descent into Alchera's atmosphere, the hard-suit's helmet had come off. Truth was that most of Shepard's hard-suit was gone. All that remained was the chest-plate of her N7 armor and little bits of ceramic plate that had burned into her thighs.

Liara leaned into the stasis tube and hugged the body of her lover. She eased Shepard up, holding her, wishing that Shepard was alive with her. Knowing that what Cerberus had promised was impossible. The damage to Shepard's body was far worse than Liara had ever imagined. There was no flesh left that she could see that had not been burned. Shepard's left hand was a fleshless claw. Her right arm was missing entirely.

As she held the body, Liara's fingers bumped into the badly damaged "black box" data-logger that was located next to the Shepard's rebreather. A loose wire inside the device conspired with Liara's nudge.

"I love you, Liara," Shepard's voice slapped Liara, her last log entry played back over the data-logger's speaker. The voice was thin and hoarse from lack of atmosphere when the recording was made.

"Oh, Shepard!" Liara wailed, fresh sobs wracking her slender body. At one hundred and six years old she was young for an asari, but she knew as she heard Shepard's voice that she would never love another as thoroughly as she had loved the young human infiltrator. "I may be giving your body to the devil," she whispered between sobs, "but that devil will not get your last message to me."

Working as quickly as she could, the asari laid the corpse back down in the stasis-tube and began the process to remove Shepard's chest-plate. Several of the latches had molten and seized, and Liara had to force them open. But in a few minutes the body was completely nude, the armor and its precious message to Liara safely removed.

Sealing the body back into the stasis-tube, Liara's tears slowly stopped.


	3. Status Report

AN: It appears that my muse has found me and is shaking me vigorously. Enjoy the results.

Favorite word in this chapter: practicable.

Shepard, Miranda, TIM, Wilson, Mass Effect, etc belong to Bioware.

* * *

"Lazarus Project Status Report, November fourth, 2183," Cerberus Operative Miranda Lawson dictated to her desktop VI. "Today would have been Commander Shepard's twenty-ninth birthday. Instead she's been dead for just over six months."

She paused, collecting her thoughts for the report that The Illusive Man had requested that morning. When she had inquired as to why she was to provide a detailed overview of their status, since he had been consulted on every major decision, his answer had been simple. "I need the report to bring new members of the team up to speed. I have selected a psychological analyst for the Lazarus Cell, and she will need to be briefed as soon as possible."

Miranda continued, "Chief Medical Officer Wilson continues to be confident that Commander Shepard is a viable candidate for the Lazarus Project, especially since we made the decision last month to proceed with bio-synthetic fusions to repair the most serious damage. When Dr. T'soni delivered the subject to us, I will admit that my faith in our ability to bring the subject back to life was severely tested."

"To fully understand our current status, it would be useful to review the facts to date. After the Battle of the Citadel, Commander Shepard was assigned to patrols along the borders to the Terminus systems, rooting out the last of the geth resistance," Miranda frowned to herself at the apparent idiocy of the council. "Three months into her patrols, an unknown cruiser exited FTL drive and plotted an intercept course with the Alliance frigate, _SSV Normandy_. At the time, _Normandy_ was running silent with her stealth systems fully engaged. This indicates that the attackers are using significantly more advanced sensor technology, or _Normandy_ was poorly placed relative to the system's star and a lucky visual sighting was made."

"At 1735 on April twentieth, 2183 the unknown vessel opened fire on _Normandy_. The first attack crippled the ships FTL drive limiting her escape options. Commander Shepard ordered the evacuation of the ship, and directed Dr. Liara T'soni to see to the safety of the crew. The Commander herself went to the cockpit to evacuate their helmsman, Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau who suffers from osteogenesis imperfecta - for which he prefers the older term, 'Vrolik syndrome'."

Taking a sip from the glass of water on her desk, Miranda reordered her thoughts to avoid going down the tangent that was "Joker" Moreau. "During another volley of fire from the attacking ship, Commander Shepard ejected the escape pod that she had placed Lieutenant Moreau in. The Commander herself was spaced. Subsequent examination of the body indicated that Commander Shepard was exposed to hard vacuum before she died, likely due to damage to her hard-suit or rebreather. It is impossible to say where the damage occurred with certainty, as the chain of custody for the Commander's body is suspect." Miranda stifled a laugh as she described the CoC as suspect. In truth she thought that most school children who hadn't done their homework would have more plausible stories.

"What is known," she continued, "is that Commander Shepard's body was recovered from the surface of Alchera by an unknown party, and was in the process of being delivered to the Shadow Broker. Cerberus employed multiple agents, including Dr. T'soni to recover the body so that we could begin the Lazarus Project. On it's arrival to Lazarus Station in June, evidence of atmospheric re-entry, exposure to hard vacuum and damaging exposure to fluctuating sub-zero temperatures was found."

"Detailed notes as to the body's condition on recovery can be found attached to this report," Miranda said, jotting a note to herself to attach those files. "In short, 100% of the epidermis from the remains had been burned off during the re-entry event. That same re-entry event destroyed some 40% of the soft tissues from the portions of the body that remained intact. The subject's right arm was missing, removed at the shoulder joint, probably traumatically on impact with the planet's surface. Most of the subjects bones were damaged, either through heat exposure, fractures on impact, or freezer-burn."

"Our first priority was the preservation of Commander Shepard's nervous system. Without her personality there would be no point to completing the Lazarus project. Rehydration and preservation efforts began immediately upon receipt of the subject. While we cannot be certain until the physical reconstruction is complete and we can awaken her, it appears that under CMO Wilson's direction we have done the impossible." Miranda smiled with pride, "Commander Shepard's mind appears to have been restored, and is currently in a drug-induced coma while we proceed with reconstruction of her body."

"The severe damage to her body has been of great concern. Originally the Lazarus Project was going to use purely biological processes to restore the Commander. This is not practicable on The Illusive Man's timeline."

"On Wilson's suggestion we are pursuing a process that involves as much technology as biology to repair the Commander. It is our intent to grow new skin and muscle in tissue culture and graft that onto the Commander's body where possible. Cybernetics will be used to repair her damaged bones and nervous system. A high density kevlar-like polymer has already been grafted to all the bones in the Commander's skull and spine. As her remaining bones are tested and found to be viable they will receive the same treatment. There is still some debate on how to reconstruct her right arm. I am of the opinion that the bones should be fully synthetic. CMO Wilson is arguing that we should use the polymer weave and grow bone on it. It's likely that the body will not be ready for us to make that decision for another two to three months."

"At the present rate of work, I expect that we will be able to awaken Commander Shepard sometime in the spring of 2186. End status report."

Miranda twisted in her chair, stretching her back. "Computer," she addressed her VI, "please print a hard copy of the report for editing and mark the file as 'need to know only'."

She picked up the single red pen she kept on her desk next to her keyboard and walked to her couch, picking up the printout of her report on her way.


	4. Reflection

AN: Brief descriptions of nudity exist in this chapter. Move on if nakedness makes you uncomfortable.

Mass Effect and its characters belong to Bioware.

* * *

I was alive again.

I died and Cerberus brought me back.

Can't say I was particularly happy about being dead for two years and finding that I had been resurrected by human supremacist terrorists. Not that I wasn't glad to have a second chance, but Cerberus? On the other hand, it appeared as though The Illusive Man had good information on the Collectors. Freedom's Progress was clear evidence to me that the Collector's had an unhealthy interest in human colonies and needed to be stopped.

'The enemy of my enemy is my friend,' I thought, for not the first time.

Freedom's Progress had also been clear evidence that two years had passed.

Tali'Zorah vas Neema was not the same awkward teenager I had met on her Pilgrimage. She's grown up and filled out in a way that only time could have allowed for. And the confidence she led her men with was proof to me that she had matured in the time that passed. To be honest, it hurt a little that I had missed her blossom during the time I was out of action.

And then, after Freedom's Progress, Joker was there with his twisted humor and I was reminded that some things would never change.

Right now I was interested in seeing what else _had_ changed. What about _myself_ was different. I'd forced myself to stillness during the tour of _Normandy SR-2_, but now I was on my way to my quarters, bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet, willing the lift to go faster. In the 48 hours since my apparent resurrection I'd been in my armor and on the move. I also hadn't seen a mirror. Not one. There had been no mirrors in Lazarus Research Station, and the same disturbing lack of mirrors repeated itself on Minuteman Station. Hell, even the glass seemed to have been coated with some anti-glare coating on Minuteman Station. Then on Freedom's Progress, it seemed that Miranda or Jacob always managed to be between myself and my reflection.

The lift finally opened, and I strode through the small vestibule that served as a waiting space for crew-members coming to see their CO. The door in front of me opened as I approached it, and I was greeted by the largest officer's quarter's I had ever seen on a military vessel.

"EDI," I spoke into the room, noting the small office space to my right, and the king-sized bed on the far side of the cabin. And an offensively large Cerberus logo painted above the couch.

"Yes, Commander," the _Normandy_'s AI answered, her blue orb appearing next to the aquarium along the port bulkhead.

'A freaking _fish tank_?' I thought to myself. 'Cerberus really needs to focus on priorities.' I tried to keep my voice level, "Who do I talk to about painting over these damn Cerberus logos? Belay that," I stopped myself, deciding that repainting some twenty percent of the ship wouldn't be a good use of manpower, and should be a much lower priority itself. "Do I at least have clothing that doesn't have Cerberus logos plastered all over it?"

"Commander," EDI replied, "none of your armor, with the exception of the Cerberus Assault Armor, has Cerberus logos. Also, none of your underclothes have Cerberus logos. Additionally, we have provided a few colonist's outfits that do not have Cerberus logos on them in the event that you need to travel undercover."

I felt a headache coming on in reaction to Cerberus' pervasive branding campaign. Massaging my temples I said, "That's... Just great, EDI. Is there a head on this deck? I want to get cleaned up." I thought to myself, 'And look in a freaking mirror.'

"Yes, Commander," EDI said, "you will find a head just off your office space. Is there anything else you require?"

Wryly I told EDI, "I just need to know where the cameras are in there so I can put on a good show for Miranda and The Illusive Man."

"Commander, aside from my terminal, there are no surveillance cameras in your quarters or head. The Illusive Man thought it best if surveillance was limited in your quarters to listening only. There is also a privacy mode that that will disable my terminal and all auditory listening devices, should you chose to entertain guests."

"Thanks, EDI. That will be all for now," I informed her, shaking my head at the implications of "entertaining guests".

"Logging you out, Commander," she replied.

I made my way into the head and was pleased to see that in addition to the standard fixtures, both a shower and a mirror were present. And a wave of anxiety washed over me. "Tali recognized me," I told myself, "so I can't look that different."

Cautiously, I approached the mirror, as though it were a venomous snake set to strike. First the reflection of my new N7 armor appeared to me, then my face. I sighed, because I could tell that it was me, but I quickly approached the mirror pressing my gloved fingertips to the orange-red scars that wove across my face. They didn't hurt, but the scars stood in clear contrast to my skin. Then I saw that the scar that had marked the left corner of my mouth since I was sixteen was gone, as was the long scar on my right cheek that had served as my reminder of the Skyllian Blitz.

My hair, the same dark brown I'd always had, framed my face in the short shag I'd favored in the months after the Battle of the Citadel. My dark blue eyes stared back at me, the color undiluted. Opening my mouth, I checked my teeth and saw that the one filling I had was gone, white enamel in its place. Then, like I had when I'd just turned sixteen and was having a sleepover with friends, I stuck out my tongue and tried to touch my nose with it. For the first time in my life, my tongue and nose met.

"Okay... That's just freaky," I muttered.

Urgently, I peeled off my gloves, dropping them on the floor, and took the first long look at my hands since I'd hastily put my armor on back at Lazarus Station. "No scars," I whispered, rubbing my thumbs across the palms, "and no callouses."

Quickly I removed my vambraces and rerebraces and pauldrons, letting the pieces fall to the floor at my armored feet. My arms were still covered by my rash guard, and I quickly moved to free the latches on my chestguard. Ceramic and metal and kevlar fell to the floor in a clatter and I pulled the form-fitting shirt out of its matching pants, the hook and loop seam between the two parting with a soft, "schhhht". I discarded the shirt, dropping it from my left hand as I looked at my newly exposed abdomen and arms.

Below the sports bra I still wore, my stomach was the same set of washboard abs I'd had since I'd entered the N programs, but the skin was marred with a patchwork of slowly healing scars like my face. The skin of my abdomen seemed to be growing smoother and less scarred as it disappeared below my sports bra and under my greaves. Above the bra, my neck and the skin over my collarbones and shoulders was smooth, clear perfection. Both arms were scar free.

I grabbed the hem of my sports bra, and peeled off that last remaining barrier over my breasts. My skin was seemed to be perfect over my breasts. I turned, slightly in profile and looked at my naked chest. "No..." I whispered, my hands cupping my breasts, confirming what my eyes had seen. Not only did my breasts seem perkier, less affected by years of gravity, but they felt larger. And as I looked more carefully, I saw that my nipples were both precisely the same size; no longer was my left nipple noticeably larger than the right.

All these little differences were adding up, and I was starting to feel a panic borne of change. My hands ripped the armored boots off my feet. Buckles and clasps on my greaves were popped open. Armor was hastily removed and the rash guard leggings stripped from my body. I stood in front of the mirror wearing only a pair of cotton boy-shorts. Slowly I turned in front of the mirror, surrounded by the cast-off armor.

My legs and arms and abdomen rippled in muscle, my shape softened only by my seemingly larger breasts. As I turned, I blinked and stared at my butt. Over the rippling muscle of an N7 operative, I saw a new layer of padding that I was unfamiliar with. My ass was softer and more shapely than before. My hands felt my bottom as they had my breasts and I wondered aloud, "what did they do to me?"

Sighing, I pushed the boy-shorts down off my hips, letting them slide along my toned thighs. Stepping out of them I moved to the shower, hoping that with hot water and time I could get used to the changes I saw.


	5. Nightmare

AN: I don't own Mass Effect, the characters or the locations.

* * *

Branches heavy with wet leaves slapped her in face as she ran blindly. The overcast of the night sky glowed orange ahead of her. Her bare feet covered the wooded grounds in the long strides of a cross country runner. But this was no high school race.

Monsters were chasing her.

They had come in the middle of the night, waking her from a subtly pleasant dream about a girl at school. Confused by the noises coming from her living room, she'd crept out of her room and looked down from the second floor shadows to see her parents on their knees. Behind them, monsters in hard-suits were brandishing guns and yelling in a language she did not understand. Her father was shot in the back of the head, and she witnessed the spray of blood and wet, red globs that splattered the floor in front of him.

She heard screaming then, but was unsure if it was her mother or herself. The scream ended when her mother was shot through the back of the head as well. She had stood mute, still with shock as the bodies of her parents toppled one after the other, lifeless, to the floor.

One of the invaders pointed at the family portrait on the piano, and then picked up the sweet-sixteen photo that sat next to it. More talking in the language she didn't understand. And then one of them started for the stairs.

She moved. Back into her room. A glance at a dirty pair of jeans sitting atop the hamper, thoughts of getting dressed quickly discarded at the sound of heavy steps on the stairs. Her window was thrown open. Thoughts on survival, not modesty, as she climbed out the gabled window and onto the roof. She was cold, exposed to the early spring night, dressed only in a tank-top and panties. Fear chilled her further.

Barefoot, she had slipped around the roof, heading to the oak tree that loomed close to the Northern side of the house. Bark scratched at her thighs when she scrambled down. Her intent had been to head to the woods around the farm, then to run to town.

Pain in her mouth and her vision had gone white.

When she turned away the tree, one of the attackers slammed his armored fist hard into the left side of her mouth. She'd fallen to her knees, the coppery taste of hot blood filled her mouth. Her knees burned, scrapped on the gravely ground. More speaking, yelling, in that unknown language. When she looked up she saw four eyes glaring down at her. She had thrown gravel in the monster's face, blinding it and she ran.

Time was lost to her. Over the fence and into the woods, running from the shouts of monsters. After that first mad sprint, with trees between her and the house, she slowed slightly. Settling into her race pace, she tried to time her breathing. In, in, out, out, timed with her strides. The run from the house to the township was one she knew well. Ten kilometers that she could cover in about 35 minutes in her running shoes. Barefoot, she didn't know if she would make it five kilometers.

Her mouth was on fire, and she gingerly felt her lip as she ran. Blood covered her chin and was dripping onto her tank-top, she winced when she felt the tear in both her lips.

The shouts fell behind her and eventually stopped. She kept running. Her lungs on fire in the cold air.

She slowed as the trees thinned near town, and she stared. The town was an inferno. All of it that she could see was burning. Mouth on fire, feet numb, despair washed over her. Salvation was not to be found.

Tears finally broke through, and she fell to the ground. She crawled into some brambles and hugged her knees, sobbing until she passed out. Wishing her Pa was there to tell her it would all be okay.

Shivering, huddled deep among in the brambles, morning found her curled in a fetal ball. As the sun arced across the sky she shook in cold and terror. The Alliance search party found her fourteen long hours after the world she knew had been murdered by batarian slavers.


	6. Who watches over you?

AN: I am taking the liberty of assuming that some crew members have their own quarters on _Normandy_ SR-2.

Nope. Don't own Mass Effect.

* * *

Kelly Chambers lay in bed, running her fingers through her short red hair. She was rereading the file on the datapad in her left hand once again, even though she had memorized it months before. Now, however, she was looking for the parts she felt she had missed. The sentence or two that should have warned her that on meeting the subject of the file everything she knew would be turned on its head. The sentence that should plainly read, "The moment you meet Commander Shepard, you will know that she cares about you personally, and you will love her for it."

"Or maybe," Kelly muttered to herself, "the Commander should have a warning label on her. 'Caution; Contact will cause intense feelings of loyalty and love.'"

During the long months while Cerberus rebuilt Shepard, Kelly had learned all she could about the woman. She had interviewed everyone she could who was known to have met Shepard, read every Alliance report Shepard had filed or was mentioned in, and read Shepard's personal journal that The Illusive Man had somehow recovered from the wreckage on Alchera. Kelly had watched every extranet interview Shepard had ever done. She had seen the closed feed of Shepard's recovery in the last few months from Lazarus Station. If she had been asked how well she new Shepard in the hours before Shepard's untimely awakening, Kelly would have said that she new her as well as anyone alive could.

And none of it had prepared her for the reality of meeting Shepard.

When Shepard had walked into _Normandy_'s CIC with Jacob and Miranda, Kelly was surprised at how very small the pretty, petite marine seemed to be in comparison to her companions. However, when Shepard introduced herself Kelly was overwhelmed by the size of her personality.

In school, Kelly had spent a large portion of her time studying leaders and charisma. Her doctoral thesis was a study of how charisma could overcome the obvious shortcomings of a politician when other, more competent individuals were unelectable. She **knew** how charisma worked, how some individuals tailored their personality to their audience to seem like they cared. And then she met Shepard.

In just those few short moments when Shepard questioned Kelly about her feelings about Cerberus, humanity and non-humans she learned more about the Commander than she had in months of study. Guileless, Shepard was everything she seemed to be on the label and more. She hadn't asked how Kelly felt out of some obligation of conversation, but because she cared about the woman. The same way, Kelly had later realized, that Shepard cared about every other human, krogan, asari or whatever that she met. And unlike nearly everyone else Kelly had ever met, Shepard knew precisely where her moral compass was and which way it pointed. Shepard wasn't working with Cerberus out of some obligation for her resurrection, she was using Cerberus to stop what she felt was an even greater evil. And Kelly had no doubt that after the Collectors and Reapers were stopped, Shepard would do what she felt was right with regards to Cerberus.

Further conversation had just reinforced Kelly's belief that Commander Shepard knew who she was, knew what was right, knew who needed defended and knew that she was the one to defend them. It was powerfully intoxicating to be around.

In just three short days since their first meeting, Kelly had become addicted.

"And then... There are her looks," Kelly whispered to herself, letting her mind recreate the dark haired, blue eyed visage. The facial scars that hadn't healed yet from her reconstruction did nothing to detract from the Commander's beauty, merely providing a counterpoint to Shepard's pretty features.

The young woman sighed and put down the datapad. Naked, she slipped out of bed, bare feet on the unyielding cold of deck plates and padded quietly to her desk. Turning on her computer monitor, she called to the ship's AI, "EDI."

"Yes, Yeoman Chambers?" the AI responded, the blue globe of her avatar appearing from the console next to the desk.

"Please put the display from your Loft console camera on my monitor," Kelly said. "Authorization code kappa, charlie, eight, five, alpha."

There was a barely perceptible pause before EDI complied with Kelly's request. "As you wish, Yeoman Chambers." As the display of Shepard's darkened quarters came up on Kelly's monitor, EDI's avatar slipped back into its console.

Kelly sat down in her chair and watched as Shepard tossed atop her sheets, in the throes of another nightmare. The Commander's boy-shorts and t-shirt were wet with cold sweat from unknown terrors.

Three days and Kelly's loyalties had shifted away from Cerberus. Three days and she knew that Shepard was compelled to place herself between life and the monsters of the darkness that would destroy it. Three days and Kelly had decided that while Shepard watched over them all, she would watch over Shepard.


	7. Cornucopia

AN: Mass Effect and its characters belong to Bioware. I'm just making them do a little jig.

Keta Candy is a product of Kwik'pak Fisheries.

Bovetti chocolates are the property of Bovetti.

* * *

He stared, disbelief clear on his face, at the boxes and bags that had just been delivered. They covered the whole of the galley's island and the mess table as well, and a large part of the floor between.

During what he thought was just an inspection, the Commander had asked him about his background and if he needed anything. And in the course of that first conversation he'd admitted that better provisions would go a long way towards making the meals aboard ship more tolerable.

In the four days since, Rupert had learned that unlike every other ship's captain he'd served under, Shepard did regular walk-throughs of the ship. Taking a few minutes to talk with each crew member at least once a day, often twice or more. As unusual as it was in his experience, Rupert found comfort in it. Here she was, Hero of Elysium and Savior of the Citadel, talking with her crew and showing her humanity.

Now, four days out from Minuteman Station they where docked at the Citadel and the Commander was ashore with Jacob and Miranda. 'Cold hearted bitch,' he thought, remembering Miranda's response when he'd requested better provisions. At least the Commander hadn't told him that there was no point. Even still... Never in his imagination had he believed that Commander Shepard would have taken the time or used the credits to purchase the provisions he'd requested. Other items seemed so much more important to the success of their mission.

And yet, the provisions he'd requested where here. All that he'd requested and more. Looking at the packing list that accompanied the delivery it seemed as though Shepard had purchased at least three times what he had requested. And then there were a few oddball items that he had to assume the Commander had added on her own. "What am I gonna do with a kilogram and a half of 'Keta Candy'?" Rupert asked himself quietly while looking at the list. "Hell, what _is_ 'Keta Candy'?"

Rupert's musing was interrupted by Yeoman Kelly Chambers as she came around the corner by the elevator. "Hey, Rupert, what's going o..." Kelly started, finding herself coming to a stop as she stared at the overwhelming number of boxes and bags and sacks that covered all the flat surfaces she could see. "Um."

"'Um' is about right, Miss Chambers. Looks like the Commander has played a fast on on me," Rupert told the shocked redhead. "About to go out and save the galaxy from the Collectors, and she makes her very first stop a grocery store. Now I'll admit that I asked her to pick some things up, but not this much, and I certainly didn't ask her to make it her first stop."

"Is there... Is there enough room to stow all this?" Kelly asked.

"Oh there's room enough. Mind you I can only keep about half of it up here on the crew deck. The rest of it is going to have to be moved down to the cargo hold. And I'm not sure which of these extra items the Commander bought she's going to want ready access to." Rupert shook his head, "Looks like I know how I'm going to spend the next couple of hours. Guessing and packing."

"Extra items?"

"Yea. Looks like in addition to buying more than I asked for, the Commander has gone off and picked up some specialty items," Gardner said. "Like there's this 'Keta Candy' thing that I can't figure out and a few lines lower it looks like she bought some french brand of dark chocolate."

Kelly bit her lower lip and then quietly asked, "Bovetti? Is that the brand of the chocolate?"

Rupert looked at the list again and nodded, "Yea, that's what it says. Why?"

Kelly didn't answer his question. Instead, she asked her own, hopeful for the answer. "What's your favorite food? And did you put it on your shopping list?"

Snorting, Rupert answered, "Miss Chambers, I'm a meat and potatoes man. I'll admit that I like jelly beans from time to time but I'm not gonna have the Commander waste Cerberus' credits on any."

Quieter, Kelly spoke, "Check your packing list."

He grunted in surprise at her request, but then Rupert started going through the packing list. After a moment he paused, "Well I'll be a pyjack's backside, Miss Chambers. Looks like the Commander picked up jelly beans. I guess most of these odd items are crew favorites. Suppose I'll be keeping these up here where people can get to them."

"I think that's what Shepard intended, Rupert," Kelly said, happy to see that Shepard was trying to keep the crew's morale high during their potentially suicidal mission, and yet disappointed that the chocolates weren't a special gift to her from the Commander. "I'll help you move the rest of this down to the hold."

"Thank's mighty kind of you, Miss Chambers, but Hadley owes me a favor and will be down in a few minutes. The two of us can wrangle all of this," Rupert said, gesturing to the cornucopia.

Kelly nodded. "Let me know if you change your mind," she said as she turned towards medical.


	8. Seamless Improvements

AN: I don't own Mass Effect, the characters or the locations.

* * *

Commander Shepard strode through the crew deck of _Normandy SR-2_, intent on the XO's quarters, her face a mask of grim determination. She was dressed in coarse orange and brown clothing, devoid of any Cerberus logos. And clutched in her right hand was a small, black object which on closer examination appeared to be made out of lace. Approaching the XO's door, Shepard keyed it open, not bothering to knock.

Behind the room's desk sat Miranda Lawson, the Cerberus Operative in charge of the Lazarus Cell. Presently, she was typing her daily report for The Illusive Man. Surprised at the unannounced intrusion, the tall brunette looked up. "Hello, Commander," she said in greeting, her surprise quickly quenched.

Silently, Shepard closed the door behind her and set the lock so that they would not be disturbed. Turning back to Miranda she hissed through clenched teeth, "What the hell is this?" and tossed the black lacy thing at the taller woman.

"Commander?" Miranda asked. Met with an unflinching glare from Shepard, Miranda began unfolding the lacy object and inspecting it. "It appears to be a bra," she said, "from Stephanie's of the Citadel. A very expensive brand, I might add."

"And what size," Shepard asked coldly, "is that bra from Stephanie's of the Citadel?"

After a quick inspection, Miranda replied, "It's a thirty-four C. What's this about, Shepard?" she asked, her brows furrowing as she tried to determine why the Commander was upset.

"Would you care to tell me what else you changed, when you were trying to put me back together, 'exactly' as I was?" Shepard asked, keeping the anger and fear she was feeling out of her voice. She crossed her arms, waiting for the other woman to respond.

Miranda set the bra down on her desk and stood up. She was taller than the Commander even without heels, the boots of her uniform making her tower over the petite marine in front of her. Calmly, so as not to upset the Commander further, Miranda said, "I do not know what you are talking about."

Unfazed and unintimidated by the fact that she had to look up some six inches to look Miranda in the eyes, Shepard laid out her concerns. "You know very well, what I'm talking about, Miranda. My tits are bigger, my ass is rounder, I don't have ANY hair on my legs or armpits, and I can goddamn touch my nose with my tongue! The filling I've had since I was fifteen is gone. And on top of all of that, the only scars I seem to have anymore are from your skin grafts! Which Chakwas says should fade completely. And when I went to get myself shit-faced drunk after dealing with the council, I never got past tipsy!"

She'd suspected that this conversation was a possibility, even probable, but Miranda had hoped that it would have been in more controlled circumstances. 'Damn, Wilson, and damn him for being a traitorous cur,' Miranda thought for what she suspected was the thousandth time. Miranda motioned to one of her office side chairs, "Let's sit down. I expect that you'll have a few questions." Sitting first, Miranda waited for Shepard to take a seat as well.

Watching Shepard carefully as she spoke, Miranda began the speech she'd practiced in her head daily, sometimes hourly, for the last six months. "Commander, when your body was recovered the damage to it was quite extensive. We spared no expense to bring you back, and did everything we could to restore you exactly as you were. We reviewed every holo-vid we could find, every photograph there was. Everyone you've ever met has been interviewed about who you were, what you were like... What your habits were. Sometimes the information we gathered conflicted. Sometimes the sources we tried to collect from simply hadn't kept the data we actually needed."

Miranda paused and glanced at the bra on her desk, before deviating from her scripted speech, "I know that you did much of your lingerie shopping at boutiques like Stephanie's, and what styles you bought, but none of the receipts listed your size. And Alliance uniform size guides don't really help since they issue sports bras in small, medium and large. Alliance data tells me you're one point six three meters tall with a mass of fifty four kilograms and mostly muscle. I can tell you what all your FITREP scores are, who recommended you for the N programs, what minute you were born in. But to get your specific measurements, we had to make an educated guess."

"We spent weeks analyzing the pictures and vids of you we had," Miranda sighed. "And in the end, we had to make the best guess we could."

Shepard nodded slowly before prompting, "How extensive was the damage to my body? What else did you change?"

Shaking her head, Miranda said, "Commander I really don't think..."

"I want to know," Shepard interrupted.

Miranda frowned, wondering what sort of emotional damage could occur if Shepard saw the Lazarus Project files. When she looked into the Commander's eyes and saw that she was determined to know, Miranda made a decision. "If you really want to know how badly damaged you were, I'll let Kelly go over the files with you. As to what else we changed... We had to use a hybrid of biological and synthetic techniques to bring you back."

"And?"

"And you're different. You're tougher and stronger than any other human, you'll outlive me by a fair span. Most poisons won't kill you; although you may wish they had. We used synthetics when there was no other practical choice. And when we used synthetics, seamless improvements..."

In a flash, Shepard was on her feet and had crossed the space to Miranda's desk. "Seamless improvements?" she asked, her voice low and very cold. "Is that all I am to you? Another piece of technology to be pointed at the Reapers like _Normandy _and EDI?"

Astonished by how quickly Shepard had moved, Miranda spoke slowly and calmly. "No, Commander, you're not a piece of technology. You're the human that has the best chance of stopping the Collectors and the Reapers. When we... When I rebuilt you, I made the decisions that I felt would best allow you to do that."

"Except that you were overruled on the control chip," Shepard said flatly.

"Except for that."

"Miss Lawson," Shepard said icily, as she turned towards the door, "see to it that Kelly has the full set of files regarding how you found me and rebuilt me." With that, Shepard released the lock and exited Miranda's office.


	9. Talk

AN: Mass Effect, its locations and characters are the property of Bioware.

Content Warning: This chapter deals with mature subjects, and should be read by mature people. If you are offended by the phrase "safe sex", just move along.

Now beta'd by Neutral Ground.

* * *

It was a pleasant spring afternoon on Mindoir when the school bus let Shepard off at the end of her country road. Dressed in school acceptable jeans and a black t-shirt, book bag over her shoulders, she started the kilometer long trek that would take her the rest of the way home. She knew that when she got home a list of chores would be waiting for her posted to the refrigerator; Pa would be out plowing for the spring planting, Mama would probably be doing the wash. Later in the evening, after supper, she'd sit down and do her homework. But for the quarter hour her walk would take, the time was her own.

Her feet knew the way from the bus stop to the farm better than she did herself. And as she walked, eyes skimming over the fallow fields, she let her mind wander. At first, her thoughts were occupied with the upcoming weekend and the plans she and her friends had to meet at the theatre to see that new drama movie. Mary and Celeste had crushes on the lead actor and, though the movie wasn't something she thought she'd be interested in, she had decided to go along. When track season started in a couple weeks, she wouldn't have time to go to the movies; her afternoon chores would all be postponed to the weekend. Even now, going to the movies meant she was going to have to get up a couple hours early to finish her Saturday chores, but it would be worth it if they ran into Sarah.

Sarah... The blonde cheerleader had become something of a crush for Shepard in the last few weeks. They shared sophomore English together, and it seemed to Shepard that she was spending more of her time looking at Sarah than she spent paying attention to their teacher. It wasn't helped by the fact that Shepard sat in the back corner, and Sarah was in the desk just in front and to the left of her. She'd get to class early so that she could watch Sarah come in and take her seat, shapely legs under the short cheerleader's skirt. And throughout class Shepard would watch Sarah brush her long blonde hair back behind her ear, trying to keep it out of her face. And every few minutes it would fall free and the ritual would repeat.

Shepard's reverie was interrupted as she found herself at the kitchen door sooner than she expected, a fantasy about helping Sarah braid her hair discarded as she let herself into the farmhouse. When the door opened, she felt her blood run cold at the sight in front of her.

"Mama? Pa?" Shepard asked through the icy fear she felt. Sometimes she'd come home and find Mama working in the kitchen, but never Pa. There were just too many things to do on the farm for him to be inside before sundown. And here they both were, just sitting a the table. "Wha- Why are you both here? Is everything alright?"

"Everything's all right, honey," Mama told her. "Your Pa and I just need to talk to you about a couple things. Why don't you go put your books in your room, and I'll fix you a sweet tea."

Her Mama's calm did nothing to put Shepard at ease. To her, it was the calm that Doctor's used when they told you that you were going to die. "Are you... Are you sure? Everything's all right?"

"You heard your Mama. What we need to talk about will wait until you get back," Pa said, his voice quiet and comforting.

Shepard's heart was thumping in her chest as she said, "Okay," and left the room to put up her books. Her thoughts were running a mile a minute. Were they behind on the loan? Would they lose the farm? Was Grandma sick? Maybe her parents had decided to get a divorce...

In her room, she put her book bag on the bed and took ten deep breaths, trying to still the shaking she felt in her hands and legs and chest. Then she took ten more. And when the deep breaths didn't help, she bit her bottom lip and walked back to the kitchen with her anxiety and fear.

As she walked into the kitchen, the anxiety she felt in her chest moved to her stomach. Pulling her chair at the table out, she saw her hand was shaking like a leaf in the wind.

"What's going on?" she asked quietly when she was seated.

Pa took a slow sip of his own tea, as though he was stalling for time. Shepard couldn't ever remember him stalling. Pa had always been up front and direct to the point. After a moment he started, "Honey, you know Mama and I will always love you."

"Oh god! You can't! You can't be getting a divorce!" Shepard blurted out, remembering the story Celeste had told them all when her parents had gotten divorced. That awkward sit down conversation that had started with 'we'll always love you'.

Almost in unison, Mama and Pa sat back in their chairs, blinking with shock. "We're not getting divorced, honey," Mama said. "We just... We..."

Mama Shepard sighed and moved something from her lap to the table. "I found these when I was changing your sheets last week. Pa and I talked, and we want you to know it's alright and you don't have to hide yourself from us."

Shepard stared at the pair of magazines Mama had put on the table, and she felt her face heat with embarrassment. Mama and Pa had found the girly magazines she'd liberated from Celeste's brother a few months before. 'They know,' she thought, 'Oh god they know I like girls oh god oh god.'

"We'll support you whatever you do, whoever you are, honey," Pa picked up from Mama. "We don't care one way or t'other if you like boys or girls or both. We just want you to be comfortable with yourself."

"And we won't tell anyone if you don't want us to," Mama said. "Or we'll stand next to you if you want to come out in front of the whole town."

In the long pause after her parents said their peace, Shepard stared at the table in front of her, certain her face was redder than the hothouse tomatoes she'd picked yesterday. 'They already know. And they're not mad,' Shepard told herself, struggling to find something to say. "I, um," she started, "yeah. I like girls. I've, um, known for a few years."

She closed her eyes, her blush deepening as she talked, even though it felt good to know that she didn't have to hide from her parents anymore. "No one else really knows. Well, no one but Celeste. She, um, figured it out two years ago. Before her parents divorced. I wanted to tell you then, but then you gave me the talk about girls and boys and safe sex and condoms and I thought you wanted me to be straight and–" Shepard babbled, her thoughts all running into each other.

"It's okay, honey," Mama said as she got up and hugged her child, stroking her hair. "It's our fault for not asking you if you liked boys or girls or if you even knew yet. We just knew that you were being noticed by boys, and we gave you the talk."

Shepard sniffed and let her Mama hold her, relieved that she didn't have to lie to them anymore.


	10. The Cold, Hard Truth

AN: Characters and places belong to Bioware. I'm just making them dance to my whims.

* * *

The "thoom-UMP... thoom-umph..." of some dance song's bass line filled the heavy air of Flux.

"They won't let you fly again," the curvaceous brunette stated as she walked up to the bar, standing casually next to a twisted, broken figure.

Jeff "Joker" Moreau carefully turned towards the voice, more concerned about his still tender, still mending arm than the whiskey in front of him. A beverage that has been left untouched for more than a half hour, the ice long since melted. Looking bitterly at the shapely woman who stood a full foot taller than he could himself, Joker dragged his eyes past her ample curves and spat out, "Tell me something I don't know, lady. I want to spend some nice, quiet alone time with this whiskey I've been ignoring, so maybe you should just wander back to Chora's Den or wherever your tits belong."

The brunette smiled, ignoring Jeff's outburst. "The merchants and civilian carriers won't let you fly either. It's not enough to be a war hero anymore. Not even when you were Shepard's pilot." Miranda allowed herself a small smile, nothing more than a twitch of the corners oh her mouth when Jeff frowned at her words. "You're one psych evaluation from a medical discharge, and a life piloting computer games and self-loathing. I can change that."

Still loyal to the Alliance - loyal to Her - Jeff turned back to his drink and told Miranda, "Fuck off, Lady. I don't want what you are selling."

Miranda placed a business card face down on the bar in front of Joker. "I'm not selling anything, Joker. I'm giving you an opportunity. There's an extranet address on that card. Open it from a public terminal. If you're interested in what I'm offering, answer the question on the bottom of the page."

Turning away from Joker, Miranda Lawson sashayed out of the bar, drawing all eyes away from the broken pilot. After a few, long moments Joker covered the card with his right hand.


	11. Between

AN: Mass Effect and its characters belong to Bioware. I'm just playing with them instead of buying action figures.

* * *

The sharp staccato in her ears slowed. The rapid beat of drums slowed and lowered in pitch, becoming a deep "thaw-DOOM!"

"thaw-DOOM!"

With each beat, the tempo crept slower.

"thaw-DOOOOM!"

Pausing longer and longer between beats.

"thaw-DOOOOOOOM!"

Until the silence between them grew almost painfully empty.

"thaaw-DOOOOOOOOOOOM!"

And in that empty, barren gap between pounding drums, her finger moved.

"KraKOW!" roared her sniper rifle in the silence between heartbeats. The 12 kilogram rifle slammed back against her shoulder with enough force to break bones if she wasn't properly braced against it. Her eye stayed looking through the scope, watching as her target crumpled, a 40 gram piece of lead and copper moving several times the speed of sound ripped through it.

Shepard lay still, counting slowly to ten, watching the enemy. They were trying to find the sniper that had been haunting their assault of Elysium for days.


End file.
